


the pull on my flesh

by skellowmare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur is surprisingly insightful, M/M, Magic Revealed, its more of a plot device really, let them talk about their feelings, no plot just stream of conciousness, oh Arthur can feel magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28107879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skellowmare/pseuds/skellowmare
Summary: He was trying to understand why all of this was happening to him. The push and pull of magic beneath the earth. He felt it as a child, in his strong love towards the ground he used to play on, the people he would watch from the battlements; he felt it years later when he was ready to give his life for Camelot, without any second thought. He felt it in the way he thought of his knights as his brothers, and they thought of each other the same. He had felt it even stronger when he’d met Merlin for the first time.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	the pull on my flesh

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song 'broken crown' by mumford & sons. any mistakes are my own.  
> i don't own these characters, this is not for profit.

Arthur wasn’t an idiot.

Not that anyone thought he was, mind. They couldn’t really. He was the crown prince of Camelot, and in light of recent events, he had become king in everything but formalities. It was such a surreal existence, trying to juggle with the ruling of a country.

All while he was trying to understand why all of this was happening to him. The push and pull of magic beneath the earth.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew about the prophecy because he might not have been a people person—his position and responsibilities made it very hard to form and maintain friendships—but he was a man of his people. He heard the whispers, he read the tales and listened to the songs sung late in the night. He knew, by now, that the prophecy was, in all likelihood, about him.

He hadn't believed it at first, of course. He doubted he was going to be a decent king on his best days - on his worst, he almost started packing to run away and live as a farmer. He'd grown up to believe no magic shall take place in his kingdom, nothing of the sort should cloud his reason. But he saw it. He saw it when Camelot’s crops still managed to feed its people even after the harshest of winters. He saw it in the blue of the sky and the green of the grass and the way the gold against the red of the Pendragon flag matched the gold of the sun at sunset. And, on days he allowed himself to, he felt it. It was those days he allowed himself to accept the fact that he’d always felt it, even before he had a word for it. He felt it as a child, in his strong love towards the ground he used to play on, the people he would watch from the battlements; he felt it years later when he was ready to give his life for Camelot, without any second thought. He felt it in the way he thought of his knights as his brothers, and they thought of each other the same. 

He had felt it even stronger when he’d met Merlin for the first time.

And, because he wasn’t an idiot, he’d understood what all of it meant pretty early on.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he realised Merlin was a sorcerer. It was the same feeling he had when he was seven years old and realised his father’s eyes couldn’t quite focus on him for longer than a few moments before drifting away to a point behind him like he saw a ghost, like the sole sight of Arthur hurt him. He always knew that was his reality. It was simply that up until a point, he’d been able to ignore it. He’d put it in the back of his head until he couldn’t deny it anymore.

It wasn’t a certain something that Merlin had done. Sure, things that didn’t quite have a reasonable explanation kept on happening. His bathwater getting too hot too quickly. A fire in his hearth when seconds ago it had been filled with stone-cold ashes. The arrow of an enemy missing his chest by half of a finger. He really didn’t remember himself or any of his soldiers killing that creature, and it didn’t even have a clear sword mark to prove it had been slain. And following all of them was what he understood was Merlin's presence, his magic, a burning light in the air around him. He felt it under his skin, in the way the ground trembled under his feet like it was humming in agreement.

He didn’t let himself think about it for a long time.

His feelings toward Merlin were complicated at best, inexplicable and completely out of his grasp at worst. He was his manservant and an awful one at that. He was a peasant. He hadn’t been taught to tend to royal needs or to be part of a court. If they both had been someone else, he would have gotten rid of him long ago despite his father’s initial act of gratitude and probably had sent him to the kitchens or made him Gaius’ full-time apprentice. 

He wasn't kind to Merlin most of the time, and especially not to his face. He made jokes. He nudged and pushed him, and threw things at him when he was in a bad temper. He never thanked him or appreciated his efforts. And the thing was, he shouldn’t have to. He was royalty and Merlin was his manservant.

Except he wasn’t. Not only, not just. Because Merlin pushed back, and he pushed hard. He called Arthur out when he was being too entitled and self-righteous and straight-up arrogant when he refused to shift his mindset outside of his father’s views. He was quick and smart and had an affinity for words, he wrote Arthur’s reports and revised his speeches and Arthur was pretty sure that he would be much better off as a scholar and had thought many times that he really should let Merlin go and learn alongside Gaius because he could become a physician just as great as Gaius was.

Arthur wasn’t a selfish person. It might have been because he was supposed to become king and good kings always put the safety of their country and people first, or maybe it was that he had been born that way. But he didn’t indulge in purely selfish acts. It wasn’t something he even thought about. And yet he could never, never bring himself to let Merlin go, to make him the apprentice he knew he should be. Merlin was smart and talented and a better person than many highly-regarded individuals Arthur had met, and he had a deep feeling more people should know it.

If they both had been someone else, the relationship between them would’ve been different. It would’ve been more. Arthur wished it could have been more.

Merlin also had magic that Arthur was not supposed to know about.

At first, he had been inclined to think he was mad. The realisation dawned slowly onto him, until one day he had thought to himself, ‘Merlin can make this fire bigger in a couple of seconds, let me just call for him’ and he had stopped dead in his tracks. He’d never thought about it openly before. He was not supposed to think anything remotely close to that, and especially not with such ease, like it was a common occurrence. He should call for Merlin to be seized and taken to the dungeons, tell his father about the infiltration of a sorcerer so closely into his court and do a sweep of the castle to make sure there were no others and then, at dawn, he should make an example out of Merlin.  
The mere thought of it made him sick.

If magic and those who stand by and practice it are evil and wrongdoers, where did Merlin fit into all of this? He’d been a part of the royal court for so long, surely his goal couldn’t be to kill Arthur or his father, nor to sabotage their rule and their relationships with other kingdoms. Things didn’t start to go worse when Merlin arrived in Camelot; if anything, now that Arthur knew where to look, he knew that certain well-wishing actions could not have taken place without the help of magic.

Arthur would like to admit that he had kept his calm. It would be an absolute lie. He had been furious, raging, white-hot anger burning behind his eyes. And he didn’t even know why. Because he’d let a sorcerer get so close to him. Because he thought he knew Merlin. Because Merlin was pretending to be an idiot when he was one of the wisest and bravest men Arthur knew. Because Merlin had lied to him. Because his father had been wrong. Because this changed everything, this was another person, one he didn’t want anything to do with, except he wasn’t. Nothing changed after Arthur found out, and everything did. Because he wanted more of everything and he knew he couldn’t have it.  
So not only was he angry, but he couldn’t even figure out exactly why, and that made it all the worse. The thing about his anger was that it came and went in waves, all the time, because he didn’t have any proof of Merlin's magic, and yet he knew it all the same. He would not have been more certain if Merlin had confessed it himself. The problem was that Arthur didn’t know what to do with it from now on.

He could ignore it, and let their lives carry on as they have. Except he wasn’t sure Merlin wouldn’t notice Arthur looking at him differently. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to hide it from him. And Merlin was becoming careless. The possibility of other people finding out just the way Arthur has was high, and he didn’t want to think about what would happen if that were the case. 

He could confront Merlin about it. Ask him to explain himself. Ask him why in the name of Heaven he came to Camelot of all places, why he hadn’t stayed in Ealdor or gone literally anywhere else, where there were fewer chances of someone bloody seeing him, and why had he stayed so close to the king and prince of a country that kills all users of magic. Arthur might just have to reconsider every time he had praised Merlin's intellect. He could ask him to promise to never use magic again, to keep it to himself, to make sure his secret remained a damn secret.

He could tell him to go away. He could tell him to go away without telling him the reason for his banishment, he could let Merlin go from Camelot altogether. This would be cruel, yes, to any outside eyes, to Guinevere and his knights and Gaius and Merlin himself, but he felt it was the best option he had. It would spare him the hurt of making Merlin confess it himself.

Deep down, he knew what he wanted most: to stop feeling so hurt that Merlin hadn’t told him himself, after all these years. But he was the prince. For all Merlin knew, if he confessed, he would be killed on sight. 

Arthur knew he cared for Merlin. He knew he considered him his closest friend, his most trusted advisor, his most cherished companion. He had no idea if Merlin felt the same way about him. Arthur wanted to wait until Merlin trusted him enough to tell him because he needed that. But, as most of his deepest, truest needs, it was one that would never be met. 

And he still had a kingdom to rule. He had treaties to sign and diplomatic meetings to hold and knights to train and people to take care of. The fact that his manservant, Merlin, of all people, had magic, and the fact that he was supposed to unite kingdoms that had been at war since they came into being had shaken Arthur’s world, but everything on the outside stayed the same.

*

Coaxing a confession out of Merlin felt almost as bad as sending him away without any explanation, because then he would not have any reassurance that Merlin had ever trusted him, only feared him. He wanted more than anything to ask Merlin why, why had he stuck at his side and protected him against magical creatures, against beings that understood him better than Arthur ever could.

But Arthur felt that he knew too much already. He felt like he was intruding.

He had known for sure for five months when he decided that he should at least tell Merlin to be more subtle. He was past being shocked at this point. Alongside his fear grew awe and wonder at the ease with which Merlin bent matter to his will. He was used to magic being disruptive, destructive, ill-natured, but there was nothing loud about Merlin's whispers, the movement of his hand, a caress of the air in front of him. Arthur couldn’t be sure, and he had thought at first that his eyes deceived him, but he thought he had seen Merlin’s eyes flash golden when the sounds of that strange tongue parted from his lips. 

The thing that made him want to close his eyes and not think about anything for a moment was the way a cold shiver ran down his spine every time Merlin used magic, the way his hair raised on his arms, both in pleasure and in fear. It was a feeling he couldn’t control, the same he’d felt in Camelot’s ground since his younger days, only ten times more present.

Merlin used magic with as much ease as he breathed. He'd seen sorcerers in combat; they used magic as a weapon, wielded it with words and enchanted objects as Arthur wielded a sword, they studied it with reverence. And yet none of this applied to Merlin. He walked as if slightly pushed from the ground, despite being the clumsiest being Arthur has had the fortune to meet. He did the most frivolous of things using magic, like making Arthur's shirt fly from the floor into his hand instead of bending down after it when Arthur was right there, exactly how obtuse did he think he was. It seemed like he wasn’t even aware of it at times. Like he didn’t control magic, nor magic him; they just coexisted in perfect harmony. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Really, Arthur thought. If he had become so knowledgeable about what exactly goes on when Merlin whispers a spell, he should take some action.

Arthur wasn’t an idiot. Next time Merlin bent down in front of the hearth with his hands on his knees and the fire lit in less than three seconds, it took all of Arthur’s willpower not to ask Merlin to stop pretending Arthur didn’t know.

As king, you have to get used to having uncomfortable conversations. Three poorly-worded sentences and you had a war on your hands. But Arthur would much rather tiptoe around Mercia's most sensitive delegate than confront Merlin with this.

*

‘I’m not an idiot, Merlin, you know.’

Merlin gave him a sideways glance from where he was sitting in front of the fire. It was an unassuming autumn evening, cold enough for Camelot’s stone to need a healthy fire to keep it warm, in a time of relative peace and prosperity. Things were going as smoothly as they could, given the circumstances. It hurt Arthur's soul to disturb all of it.  
‘Yes, sire, I know,’ came the reply, doubt creeping into Merlin’s voice.

‘I’m a very good hunter, as you know. And for that, you have to be very observant, have good eyes. Keep quiet and watch.’ Arthur took a deep, silent breath. Merlin was still messing around with the fire, only half-listening to Arthur’s musings, as he was wont to do because frankly, Arthur had started on the wrong foot already. He had half a mind to abandon the battle and live to fight another day, but then Merlin got up and his magic started to sort Arthur's clothes, and the whole situation was dripping in irony.

‘And you’re not as subtle as you think you are.’

Merlin kept going for another beat before he took in Arthur's words and stopped dead in his tracks. Surely his mind had jumped to the worst conclusion, that is, that Arthur was talking about his magic, but then his shoulders relaxed and he probably told himself that he was talking about another outing to the tavern—about which Arthur now knew they weren’t true.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Merlin, making a whole mess of the armour while shoving it into the cupboard, which has been the wrong place to put it for the whole time that Merlin’s been putting it there. Arthur never wanted to see him put the armour anywhere else, and the thought made him choke on his breath. 

‘It means,’ Arthur said slowly, not sure how to make this easier. He had turned it around in his head a million and a half times, and he still couldn't tell which way was the best, which outcome was the worst. ‘I know how you’ve been lighting up my fire and how you’ve been polishing my armour and how you managed to get all the chores I gave you in a day done, even when they shouldn’t be physically possible. I know what…’ he should shut up right here, heaven be damned, he couldn’t go on—‘I know what you’ve been doing to keep me safe.’ He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to put the name to it. He still hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Merlin stood up straight—Arthur was sure he had stopped breathing as if he were waiting to disappear from Arthur’s chambers at any time. Arthur was glad he was facing away from him, because he wouldn’t have been able to stand the look of horror he was sure was veiling Merlin's eyes. After all, that had to be his biggest fear: his truth out into the open, in the hands of people who would kill him for it.

‘Arthur, I…’

His voice was cracked and wet, and Arthur wished he could make things clearer, wished he could say it once and for all even if it wasn’t the right move, because he couldn’t bear the slight uncertainty that still hung between them.

‘I use it only for you, Arthur, I swear.’

Merlin's words were as good as any confession, and now that Arthur had it, he didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know what to do with Merlin, because he knew he had the power to order him anything, and he knew Merlin would ignore him all the same if he wished. He had no idea just how powerful Merlin was exactly, but by the way the air around him cackled when he used the smallest of spells, he couldn’t imagine what too much would do.

Merlin had half-turned to him. He wasn’t begging for mercy, he wasn’t throwing explanations and excuses into the air. Arthur didn’t know if he would listen if that were the case. He was stuck in place by the realisation that anything that he would decide was exactly what Merlin would do. He saw it when he raised his eyes to meet the - sorcerer’s, and he saw a quiet determination and loyalty so fierce it almost scared him. It was the only thing Merlin wanted to prove. He could have gotten away so easily, knocked Arthur out and made him forget, disappear within the next few hours if he thought his life was in danger. And he didn’t. 

Arthur got up from the bed on steadier legs than he thought he had at the moment and walked towards Merlin, who had abandoned the rest of the clothing in front of the wardrobe. He didn’t dare get close enough to touch him, both because he was still afraid and because he didn’t want to startle Merlin.

‘Listen to me’, he said. He tried to make order in his mind, to say what he wanted to say and deal with everything else afterwards. ‘You’ve gotten careless. If I was able to notice, so will others. You have to promise me to be more careful. If one of the royal advisors saw, or if my father…’

His words died there, and he looked Merlin straight in the eye and tried to convey by looking all of the fear that he’d held at the thought of someone discovering Merlin's secret and wanting to harm him because of it. 

He was met by a disbelieving pair of light blue eyes. Merlin looked like he was about to cry, like his world had just shattered around him and he was still hoping that Arthur would put it back together. Arthur wondered when it had gotten so intense so quickly.

‘I don’t… Arthur, I would never do anything to harm any of you.’

Arthur thought it clear enough why Merlin wouldn’t understand him, or rather not believe, because they wouldn’t have made any sense to Arthur either, if he had been in his place. But Arthur had had the time to get used to the thought. Had kind of understood what he wanted to happen, what he hoped would happen and what he hoped was true.  
He could be wrong, of course. He could just be letting the biggest threat Camelot has yet to face inside its walls. But looking at him, at Merlin, the person he’d grown to know so well, staying there with tears welling up in his eyes, he strongly doubted it.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

He knew why. But he’d never stopped wishing things weren’t as they were. 

‘You know why, Arthur.’

Maybe if Arthur had just found out, he’d have a much more aggressive reaction. But he’d had time to make his peace with it.

Merlin wrapped shaking fingers around one pillar of the bedframe and held on so tight his knuckles went white. 

Arthur’s heart clenched. ‘You lied to me.’

Merlin managed a half-smile. ‘You’d have chopped my head off.’

Arthur wanted to lash out, to scream that there wasn’t anyone alive he trusted more than he trusted Merlin, so why couldn’t Merlin feel the same about him?

He knew why, and it didn’t make it any easier.

‘I’m not sure what I would have done.’ He was.

‘I didn’t want you to have to make a choice.’

‘Listen to me’. Merlin’s eyes were fixed somewhere behind him even as Arthur started talking. ‘I’ve known for a long time. I’ve had time to think about this. And it’s still a lot, for both of us. So go now, go do whatever you want. Meet me tomorrow before sunrise at the stables.’

Merlin took a deep breath, opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head. He looked at Arthur, blue against blue, ice-cold water against a clear blue sky, and left.

Arthur waited until he couldn’t hear footsteps anymore before he let out all of the air from his lungs and sat down on the floor, pressing the heels of his palms hard onto his closed eyes. When he opened them again, his hands were wet and his head throbbed painfully.

*

He’d thought it over a thousand times, and the thousandth and one he decided he’d shift his approach completely. They wouldn’t get anywhere by pretending and lying and avoiding. Merlin was the best choice he had and, as always, his first choice. He’d thought of going to the Druids in hopes of them telling him what the hell was going on, or rid him of his—power? ability? remnants of the Old Religion?—but he was still afraid of them. Because they were sorcerers. There were still too many resentments because of his and his father’s actions. He could deny it all he wanted—there was Merlin, or there wasn’t anything at all.

Arthur had gone so long tiptoeing around subjects, leaving things unsaid and having things left unsaid, everyone just assuming that he'd catch on to everything that was going on by pure—what, intuition? Things weren’t spelt out in the Court of Camelot. Everyone just knew, and if you didn’t know, chances were you weren’t going to survive for very long.

Arthur was sick of it.

The clearing they’d come to was near the border of Essetir and Arthur was dead set on spending a good couple of days in a tent and hunting for food if necessary—as long as it would take to sort all of this out. Deep down he’d feared Merlin would leave during the night —what else could he have done? Wait in Camelot for Arthur to turn him in? But then, out of sheer hope, Arthur got to the stables at sunrise and Merlin was already there, horses ready.

They hadn’t talked at all and didn’t stop until Arthur found the place.

‘You were born like this, weren’t you?’

Merlin pursed his lips and nodded. He was sitting with his legs up to his chest, idly stoking the fire Arthur had lit up with a branch; the clouds cast a grey light on him, making him even more distant. It was cold and Arthur’s lips had almost gone numb.

‘It’s not like I was given a choice. The Old Religion chose me to protect you, Arthur. To make sure you stay alive — to make sure you bring it back.’

And that was exactly the thing. The Old Religion hadn’t given Arthur a choice, either. So how could he cast Merlin away when they were clearly supposed to be in this together?

‘There’s this prophecy,’ he said. ‘A mage whose existence had been predicted before the dawn of time, a sorcerer whose power was so great he would be magic incarnate. And a king who is supposed to bring magic back to the land and unite all of Albion.’

‘Bold of us to assume we’re these great figures from a prophecy as old as time’, Merlin said, cracking a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

But Arthur was watching him closely, the way his shoulders tensed and his fingers nervously twirled a fallen branch.

‘You’ve known for a long time’, he said. It wasn’t a question.

‘Since the day I came to Camelot.’

‘Who told you? Gaius? I figured he knows as well.’

Merlin looked like he was carefully calculating his answer, like he didn’t know yet what he could safely say and what would make him end up on the stake — as if that was an option.

Arthur decided it was time to go all in. He got up and took the branch from Merlin’s hands, sitting down in front of him.

‘Merlin,’ he started and despised how unsure he sounded. ‘I’m not here to punish you, or banish you, or kill you. I’ve known for months. Heavens, I think I’ve known since the first week you’ve been my servant. I’ve had the time to be mad and scared. But I don’t think getting rid of you would do Camelot any good.’

Merlin took a deep breath.

‘You know the Great Dragon that’s bound underneath the castle? His name is Kilgharrah. The day I arrived in Camelot, I heard him calling for me. He told me everything about this — how our destinies are bound together. He called me Emrys. Then everything started happening, and I couldn’t go away. But I think I wouldn’t have gone away even if I could.’ He looked at the sky. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Arthur.’

Talking dragons. He wondered if it was too late to postpone this whole thing.

‘You let me, all of us, make fun of you when you knew all this time the things you were capable of doing.’

‘I’m more useful to you like this. I was. Close, where I could protect you.’

‘Do you think I need you to be my shadow?’

‘You really wouldn’t want me to tell you.’

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

‘I’m crown prince. Of course, some people want to kill me. It doesn’t mean you have to obsess over it.’

Merlin sighed. ‘What your father did to creatures of magic was more than vicious, Arthur. They’re enraged. They’ve gone past the simple need for the laws to be abolished. They hate everything the Pendragon flag stands for. They won’t stop until you and Uther are dead and they can make sure no one like you rules Camelot ever again.’

‘You talk like you’re not one of them,’ Arthur said, carefully, not knowing if it was the right thing to say, while at the same time thinking Merlin knew a whole damn lot about how the creatures of the Old Religion felt. Figures, he thought, that’s how he must be feeling as well.

‘Honestly? I don’t know what I am. I can’t see you die, Arthur. I… I believe in you.’

Arthur didn’t have time to think Because someone else told you to before Merlin spoke again.

‘Yes. At first, because someone else told me to. And because your father made me your manservant, and that was too big of a coincidence to be just a coincidence. And because it let me put my magic to good use. But then… Then I got to know you. I started to see you, and I… I realized this was exactly what was supposed to be happening. Only you shouldn’t have found out. Not yet.’

‘But I did.’

‘How?’

This is where all of Arthur’s scenarios came to a halt. He didn’t exactly understand how he knew; he just did. He felt it. And exactly because of that he thought something, somewhere, had gone completely wrong.

Arthur knew he could never fool Merlin—out of the two of them, he’d always been the observant one, even if careless himself. So he said out loud his biggest secret, the thing that would have gotten him killed by his own father if anyone else were to find out.

‘I could feel your magic, Merlin.’

The whole world held its breath.

‘What do you mean, you could feel it?’

‘It means,’ he started, knowing fully well that he couldn’t explain this properly, ‘it means that I know it’s there. It’s like a… a tingling on my skin and under my feet. I think I’ve felt it my whole life, but I just thought it was normal. If I don’t concentrate on it, I forget it’s there. When I met you, it became deafening, and I didn’t understand why for some time. I suppose it makes sense now.’

Merlin looked at him like he didn’t recognize him, then got up as if startled.

‘No. No, no, no, this can’t be right. Maybe someone got to you. Maybe an enemy put a potion in your food, maybe they put a spell on you on the last trip and we didn’t notice—’

‘Merlin, calm down. This isn’t anything new. It’s been like this since I can remember.'

‘How can this be? You’re not magic. You can’t do magic, you have nothing to do with it.’

‘Merlin. Stop. Remember when we found out what my father did to make me even come into existence? Who’s to say the Old Religion didn’t leave its imprints on me then?’

That got Merlin to stop his furious pacing, but his hands didn’t stop shaking. 

‘So you were born like this’, he asked, and Arthur almost wanted to laugh.

‘Yes. To be fair, I just thought this was what everyone felt. So I never even mentioned it. And I’m glad I didn’t, and by the time I realized it wasn’t actually normal, I was old enough to keep my mouth shut. No one’s ever known about it until you.’

‘This is ridiculous’, came the answer, and if Arthur was to be fair, that wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped he’d hear after revealing his most treasured secret. 

‘Well, it is what it is’, he choked. ‘I can’t change it any more than you can.’

Merlin looked at him for a long time. He took a step forward, then shook his head and turned around. Then, to Arthur’s surprise, he threw his head back and laughed, an ugly laugh, like he was trying very hard not to scream at the world.

‘And what do you think we’ll do, Arthur, huh? What do you think we’ll solve? Magically make everyone accept sorcery? Do you think I can just snap my fingers and fix everything? Do you even know what needs to be fixed?’

He turned around abruptly and strode towards Arthur until there was almost no distance between them. Arthur thanked the sky that they were the same height and didn't have to look up to meet Merlin’s eyes.

‘Why didn’t you have me go away, Arthur? Why didn’t you turn me in? Why didn’t you have me killed?’

Every bone in Arthur’s body screamed at him to push Merlin away or to turn and run back to the city, to get as far from Merlin as he could.  
_Because I want you to be safe. I want to know that I can still trust you. I want you to trust me._ He couldn’t say any of it out loud. He’s been revealing too much, he had to—

He wished for some beast to come out of the woods and disrupt the moment, or for his knights to find him, or anything that would mean he didn’t have to answer Merlin’s questions.

Instead, it just started to rain.

‘You really don’t know?’

The anger fell from Merlin’s face as if washed away by the water. He took a step back.

‘Is it because you felt pity? Or because you didn’t want to be the only one left? The only one tied to magic?’

Arthur was shocked. Surely even Merlin couldn’t be that obtuse.

‘You know me better than that, Merlin.’

Merlin looked as if he’d been stabbed. But anger replaced the hurt in his eyes immediately.

‘Do I, Arthur? Do you really think we know each other? You just told me you can feel magic, something even I cannot do, not without concentrating and saying the right words, and I’m—’

‘The most powerful sorcerer that’s ever lived?’

Merlin stared at him. He was very obviously having a battle with himself, hands twitching and lips pursed. The air around them became thick, almost palpable. Arthur didn’t even have time to panic, because the sensation was so familiar, even if it increased tenfold. He’s never been this close before.

Merlin’s magic played around them and Arthur felt a lot of contradicting emotions coming and going back in waves—the need to smother, to occupy, to claim, but at the same time it couldn’t do anything that would hurt either of them. Instead, it seemed to almost caress the air around their heads, even if all the power behind it made it almost impossible to bear.

‘Can you feel this?’ Merlin asked, and his voice sounded like it came from very far away. Arthur dared to look around and noticed, with little surprise, that the rain, even though it continued to fall, wasn’t touching them.

‘Yes’, he said. ‘It’s so much. I don’t know how you can stand it.’

He feared as soon as he said them that those were the wrong words to say, but Merlin smiled and let his magic go. Arthur felt cold rain on his skin. 

‘You know, there’s days I wonder the same about you. I couldn’t take care of all of Camelot.’

‘We each have our burden to bear. It doesn’t mean we have to do it all on our own.’

Merlin stared at Arthur like he didn’t recognize him, shook his head again and walked over to the fire, which was still burning, despite the rain, and sat down in front of it. He put his head in his hands, staring hard at his shoes until the tip of his left one caught on fire. Raindrops fell upon it, but it kept burning. Merlin scowled and the fire stopped, leaving the shoe unaffected.

It wouldn’t quite be the truth to say that Arthur had never seen Merlin do magic in front of him, because that was part of how he’d found out in the first place, but he’d never seen him do it so freely, out in the open. Merlin seemed to think the same thing, because his head shot up in distress and he opened his mouth to apologize.

‘Don’t’. The words came out of Arthur’s mouth before Merlin could speak. ‘Never apologize for it. Don’t do it.’

‘How couldn’t I? I’ve lived every second that I’ve been in Camelot being afraid of this moment. I never let myself imagine how it would go. I’ve been scared and ashamed of what I am for as long as I can remember. I could never do anything but apologize for it.’

‘Show me.’

Merlin shot him a disbelieving look. ‘What?’

It kept raining harder and they were soaked to their bones. Arthur thought fondly of his tent, dry on the inside, and even fonder of his chambers back in Camelot. 

He sat down next to Merlin, shoulders touching.

‘Show me your magic.’

He watched Merlin extend a hand and whisper something, and then from the flames emerged a dragon made of embers, lighting its way through the dark. Arthur fought back the urge to flee in the face of such an obvious display of magic easier than he thought. He touched the dragon with the tips of his fingers and the same warmth and power he always felt around Merlin crept under his skin.

‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, and meant it completely.

Without taking his eyes off the dragon, Merlin took Arthur’s hand and gripped it tight.

*

Arthur knew Merlin was a creature of the Old Religion just as he knew he himself couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t control it, that wasn’t his purpose. He was turned around by it, his actions and his decrees worked in its favour. He was—

‘You are the king of this land, Arthur. None of it can happen without you.’

‘Or without you.’

‘It’s going to be hard. So hard. For the people, for the Old Religion. We don’t know what it’s going to look like on the other side. Maybe it’s a bad idea altogether. Maybe it should stay hidden, our secret—’

‘Merlin. Stop. Your fears are understandable, but you know you don’t believe any of this.’ Arthur’s hand found Merlin’s under the cover and held on tight. They were lying in Arthur’s bed, big enough to fit the both of them. 

He still couldn’t believe his luck. That's how he thought of it. What else could it possibly be, to have Merlin this close to him, finally able to know him? Merlin has always been just at the edge of his understanding, close enough for Arthur to know that he was it, all of the answers he’s ever wished for, the one he trusted the most, that always intrigued him. To find out that each of his feelings were shared equally had been an otherwordly experience. And a relief.

Arthur turned on his side and lay the other hand on Merlin’s chest.

Merlin didn’t move. He worried his lip, eyes fixed on a point Arthur couldn’t have seen even if he’d tried.

‘Sometimes I want to leave,’ he said in such a low voice, Arthur thought he himself was thinking his words. ‘Sometimes I think that I’ve had enough. But it’s always you keeping me here, Arthur. At first I resented you for it. I thought you were arrogant and an idiot, frankly, and that I’d have to watch you become a king I couldn’t serve with a clear conscience. But you'd be amazed to know just how fast it all went away. The doubt and the fear. I doubt myself constantly. But I’ve never, ever doubted the king you’ll become. I’ve never doubted you.’

Merlin turned to look at Arthur and his eyes were filled with tears. One rolled down his cheek, and Arthur caught it with his thumb.

‘Idiot,’ he whispered, as an echo, and leaned in to kiss Merlin.

*

‘You couldn’t have hidden it from me forever. I cannot be part of a prophecy this big and not have any say in it, don’t you think?’

‘I didn’t have any say in it either, remember? I was thrown in your direction and then I ended up having to follow you around.’

Arthur looked at him in amused disbelief. 

‘You saved me, willingly.’

‘Heaven knows why I did that,’ said Merlin, 

‘I don’t think you did it just because a talking dragon told you our destinies are bound together.’

Merlin lifted his head slightly to smile at him and Arthur took in the sight of him, soft and vulnerable, sheets tangled between his legs, all the while knowing that he was more powerful than anyone could imagine, and wanted it to never end. Merlin got up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

‘No. I don’t think so either.’

**Author's Note:**

> any feedback is very much appreciated!! find me on tumblr @achillces


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